Changeling
by Viridis Lupus
Summary: Blond haired, blue eyed and very beautiful, it isn't surprising that a magical clan wish to claim an infantile Arthur Pendragon for their own and in the process tear out King Uther's heart. Features little Merlin too! SORRY. ON HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note - Hey, guys, I literally produced this plot-bunny today and I just couldn't shake it so I had to write it down. It will be a multi-chapter fic if people like it.**

**Note to any readers of Last Dragon Egg - by the way, I won't be around for the next few days as going on a Medlink course. Whey! No chapter updates until, can you believe it, MONDAY!? Ooh, and what are your opinions on the name Pegasus, do I name it Pegasus and make it like 'the original' from the myths or give it another name?**

In the dead of night, when only the owls and the bats roamed the velvet black skies, a shadow slipped through the smooth stone archway. It went unseen by the two guards who slumbered against the wall. Quietly as a ghost, it floated across the cobbled courtyard, bare feet slipping out from beneath a frayed woollen cloak. The stars winked down upon it like a thousand watchful eyes but they could do nothing about the crime that was about to come to pass.

The castle was silent as its residents slept and the intruder wandered the echoing corridors without being discovered. Torches flickered warily in iron brackets, the light they cast glinting off a delicate bracelet that was revealed momentarily from the folds of the material. A glimpse of flesh was also exposed. Doors creaked as they were pushed gently open in order for the slight figure to glide through.

It knew where it was headed. It knew what its orders were. Nothing could stand in its way.

With a firm hand, it reached out and twisted the handle to the door behind which lay its prize. Burnished oak swung forward as it was granted easy entry into the room. A pair of cold eyes swept the darkened space with a calculated detachment.

The room was relatively large with tapestries and rugs lining the walls and floors to keep out the draughts. Obviously, the occupant was well cared for. A tall window stood in one corner, the glass stained with coloured paints. On the furthest wall hung a painting of a dragon, golden in colour and emblazoned on a crimson background. Swirls of yellow fire curled from its open jaws.

Sleeping on a low-slung bed in the corner was a humped shape that rose and fell rhythmically with its breathing. A splash of long mahogany tresses on the pillow meant that it must be the maid. The figure wasn't interested in her though.

Steadying its footfalls, excitement rising in its usually perpetually icy heart, the shadow slunk forward like a cat stalking a mouse. Its even gaze had fallen upon the trophy that it had come to collect.

A cradle.

Ornately carved with twisted rose branches and beautiful flowers, the cradle was skilfully crafted and time-consuming to create, much like the child that it held in its elm wood arms.

A little baby boy. Feathery golden blond locks framed his face like a cherub; long eyelashes were closed on pink cheeks and his small tight fists were clenched beside his head as he slept. He continued to slumber on, unaware of the ominous shadow that had drifted across his cradle.

He was just one year old.

Glancing surreptitiously at the pile of blankets that was meant to be the infant's nursemaid, the figure reached down towards the babe and grabbed hold of it with inexperienced fingers. Instantly, the child's eyes opened, vivid blue and surprised as they fell upon the unfamiliar greenish hands that encased him. His handsome face creased, reddening by the second and a keening wail escaped his rosebud lips.

* * *

The king wasn't quite sure why he had woken up. Perhaps, he had had a nightmare that he now didn't recall or perhaps he had been too cold – as was the problem when winter was making way for spring and he wasn't sure whether he needed so many blankets. Running a calloused hand through his short hair, he looked around him, pondering.

That's when he heard the cry.

Like a hound from a kennel on hunting day, the king was out of his bed and through the door before the sound had even finished. Uncaring of his bare feet that slapped on the cold flagstone, he charged along the length of the corridor to his son's room. His heart rampaged against his ribs.

No, no, _no_. Nothing could have befallen his child.

He said a quick prayer to the gods as he barrelled into the room and looked around him. What he saw made his blood run cold and practically freeze solid in his veins. The cradle….the cradle was upturned, thrown haphazardly onto its side like the children's toys it was surrounded by. But the content of this cot was far more precious than those playthings.

"Arthur…" The name escaped his lips like the words on the last breath of a dying man. "Please…._no_…" he moaned, his hands reaching desperately into the air.

"Sire! Sire, I am so sorry, I have no idea what happened," the nursery maid wept, huddled in the corner.

Uther stepped forward, raising his hand as if to hit her but found he couldn't. Instead, he let the limb drop uselessly by his side. His son, his only son, had been taken from him. The thought made him feel sick with hopelessness; especially as he knew the only perpetrators capable of such a crime would be the sorcerers. Those witches and devils that had stolen his wife just one winter ago – they were pure evil.

"My lord, what shall I do?" the girl whispered, her whole body quivering.

"I think you have done enough," the king spat, his voice laced with venom.

And then, as he turned to go, a piteous whimper reached his ears and he froze, hope swelling inside of him. Spinning on the spot, he rushed over to the overturned cradle and lifted the wooden structure up. His face broke into a relieved smile as happiness flooded his system. There, lying on his front, gurgling at the floor was his son; perhaps, looking a little paler than usual and a little worse for wear but nonetheless here and alive.

"Arthur…" This time the words seeped from his mouth in a tender caress. "You're all right."

Words couldn't even begin to express how Uther felt at that moment in time as he carefully pulled his tiny son out from beneath the devastation of his bed and cradled him in his strong arms. Staring at his small innocent face, the king couldn't help but keep the broad grin off his face.

That had been a close call. He could have lost his son and he certainly wasn't going to allow it to happen again. Security would be increased tenfold.

* * *

Little did the ruler of Camelot know, as he cuddled his son close to his chest, was that there was a lone figure loping through the darkened forest, a little baby boy clutched tightly beneath the folds of his cloak.

**Okay, so really that was just a taster but what do you think? Good? Bad? Obviously, its written in the past and will feature Arthur as a baby/child all the way through but Merlin will play quite a key role as well (I can never keep him out of my stories, I love him waaay too much). **

**See ya next week! **

**Review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note - thank you very much for all the positive reviews. I'm glad that you are enjoying my plot bunny so far - your reviews feed it so please keep them coming. **

**I'm not sure whether this story is going to go how you expected. Hell, its not even gone where I expected but bear with me as I hope it will turn out well.**

**I suppose this story is also kind of AU so be prepared for that.**

_Three years later…_

Uther knew there was something not quite right with his son. He couldn't remember the exact time when the change took place but he could have sworn on his life that the child he had first known was not the same as the one he had now. This one was moody, unresponsive and as friendly as a troll. He did ponder whether it was a rough stage in his development but having met with allied kings and seen their rapidly growing, excitable and happy sons he knew there was something not right with his. It wasn't that Arthur was behind intellectually, in fact, he was a very wise child – the nursemaids often likened him to a little old man. But he was very behind in developing his social skills and just generally being playful and boisterous. This was strange because Uther recalled a time when he used to toss baby Arthur into the air and hear him laugh and gurgle. He would revel in the solid feel of his son in his hands, his rawness and potential. This golden haired cherub was to be the next king of Camelot, perhaps even the _greatest_.

Arthur used to scramble on all fours, zooming round the nursery, putting things in his mouth and covering his podgy fists with dirt and muck. He was normal then. Now he had retracted into an invisible shell and it was destroying Uther slowly but surely. He cared for the boy with all his heart, had given up so much to bring him into the world…

No, Ygraine, his dear Ygraine, had given up so much for this pale-skinned, impassive toddler. Obviously, the king had concluded that he had done something wrong and caused his son damage, maybe even irreparable damage. His chest burned at the thought. In reaction to the problem he had summoned several specialists: medicine men, child-readers, soothsayers and even Gaius had tried to engage Arthur in the normal activities of a child. However, the blond-hared, blue eyed child merely sat with what Uther could only describe as a disdainful expression and then had asked to be excused.

That was another thing; the boy had no rebellion in him whatsoever. There was never any fire, not so much as a spark in those deadened eyes. Not that Uther should really be complaining, most fathers could only wish for an obedient, well-behaved son but he had thought, perhaps hoped, for a son with his temper, his passion and flare for life.

A four year old should be splashing around in puddles; pretending to be a gallant knight with sticks and reluctant chicken-opponents; they should be wilful and determined to do what they wanted when they wanted. Arthur did none of those things. He either stood silently like a miniature statue or only spoke when he was spoken to – with an eloquent tongue of course.

Uther honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd heard him laugh or even smile (with meaning) in the years gone by.

Eventually, after one too many an unsuccessful attempt to engage his muted son in any kind of conversation, Uther snapped. He knew that he shouldn't have, the boy was just a toddler for crying out loud but when his wrath was unleashed it went in a blazing inferno.

"_Speak_ boy! I command you to open your mouth and speak to me or else."

Arthur stared at him with dull blue eyes and greyish skin. "Father," he said in irritatingly calm tone, "I am speaking to you."

"No," Uther threw his arms in the air, "You are not. Talk properly, like a normal child, damn it. Why can't you play in the mud, climb trees, fight with the sons of my nobles?" The king's chest heaved with unspent anger.

"Father?" The boy frowned. "I don't see why-"

"_Enough_! Go to your chambers!"

The child turned obediently, his little chin dropped onto his quivering chest and made his solitary exit through the huge oak doors of the Great Hall. His small booted feet barely made a noise on the thick wooden floorboards. Uther dropped into his chair, despairing.

So after this incident, King Uther of Camelot was terrified that his son was broken, both by him and some unknown entity, like one of the toy soldiers that he used to throw around on the cobbles of the courtyard with his brother. They had shattered into hundreds of little fragments and splinters had peppered their young, unmarked palms.

* * *

It was on a chilly afternoon in the dead of winter, when the castle was cold and draughty and even the heat of the fires couldn't warm the souls of the inhabitants, that a stranger appeared in Uther's court. This, in itself, was not particularly surprising as there were many citizens in his kingdom and he could not be expected to recognise all of them no matter how hard he tried. However, what was particularly odd about this fellow was that none of the guards could recall the reason they had allowed him to enter the Throne Room despite his obvious lowly status. They just looked bemused when they had escorted in and announced his name.

Balinor.

Although not a noble, the young man had a dignified air about him. Uther reckoned it was his stance, the way he held his body casually yet straight-backed, which reminded him of his own father's regal ease. This man was no king though, just a peasant dressed in a light brown jumper and forest green trousers. His chin was covered in black stubble that looked softer than it actually could be.

He stared at Uther with intense brown eyes and then smiled in a disarming manner, throwing the king of kilter.

"My lord," he bowed deeply, keeping his gaze steady, "I am honoured to be in the home of such an esteemed king."

"Yes, yes…" Uther waved his hand. "What do you want?"

The man paused. "I have heard of the terrible thing that has befallen your son."

"You have?" Uther said before he could think and then froze, his face contorting with rage. "Wait. What?! My son is perfectly fine. Are you threatening him somehow because if you are then I will kill you instantly?" He was up on his feet now.

"Sire, sire," the man help up his hands, "I did not mean to mislead or scare you."

His tone was sincere and Uther couldn't help but stop and listen, not ready to sink back in his throne but not ready to call off his attack on the stranger. He hovered in a very un-kingly manner. This was what this man seemed to do, make you unsure of yourself.

He continued, "I merely heard from several travelling medicine men that the King of Camelot was having….problems with his son, Prince Arthur."

Uther bristled. How dare those fools go gabble about his problems to others? They had been sworn to secrecy about what went on behind closed doors at Camelot. Should they return then their heads would be removed from their bodies.

"There are no problems," he denied. There was little a peasant could do to help anyway.

"Sire," Balinor's voice was calm, "I understand that this is a difficult time for you. There is something wrong with the young prince and you do not want anyone to find out and I am here to help. I have the resources to find fix your son."

"And what do you want for your _resources_?" There was a biting scepticism to Uther's words.

"My lord, I merely wish to help my king in his time of need and to make sure that our future ruler is not corrupted."

"Corrupted?!" Uther's face reddened.

Balinor continued, unperturbed. "Yes, I will explain that in a moment. First, though, I do ask for one thing in return."

"That is?"

"The safety of my son."

"Your son?" Uther repeated, confused. "What has this got to do with anything…?"

"You must promise not to hurt him – ever." His eyes were even more intense now, boring holes into the monarch's soul. They were filled with bravery, determination and protection.

"Yes, of course," Uther agreed, flippantly.

"On your own son's life," Balinor persisted.

"Now, hang on a moment, you have no right to make such bargains with me. I am your king."

The stranger stood strong. "Unless you agree to my terms, unless you promise an oath then I will not help you and your son."

Uther glared at the other man with suspicion in his eyes. He could just have him thrown out. He could just ignore his words and imagine that they meant nothing to him. However, deep down he knew there was something wrong with Arthur and if this man could truly help him then he was willing to make such a powerful vow.

"How do I know you are not tricking me?" Uther asked, slowly, eyes narrowed.

"I need your word, my lord," Balinor said, emphatically.

"_Fine_! I give you my word that I will not harm your son. Where is he anyway?"

"Thank you, sire, you will not regret this."

Carefully, as if he were coaxing a frightened puppy from its hiding place, Balinor reached behind him and brought out a boy. He looked about Arthur's age with a messy crop of raven black hair – inherited from his father, no doubt – and a pair of the most vivid blue eyes that Uther had ever seen, excluding Nimueh's. Unconsciously, Uther became a little wary. He wore a pair of baggy black trousers and a cream shirt with a navy jacket on top. His neck was so pale and scrawny that Uther thought he should wear a scarf to keep away the wind chill.

"This is my son, Merlin and he alone can help your heir."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note - ****I know I haven't updated this in ages. Sorry about that! **

**For those new readers, I started this before the Changeling episode (go me for predicting this kind of storyline, eh?) and so its not based on that or around that at all. **

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Merlin was an autumn baby. He was born when the russet leaves swirled lazily from the trees, coating the hardening earth in a bronze carpet, and the harvesters, backs aching with intense labour, worked doggedly in the fields. Hunith had been one of those workers in the field, bending over with huge effort as the swell of her belly tucked itself into the crease of her body like a conker in the fist of a child. She worked until the day she gave birth. Her waters broke unceremoniously on the wheat she had been collecting as her small frame jack-knifed with the contractions that gripped her. Desperately, Hunith grasped at her distended abdomen and attempted to blow through the pain but it proved so overwhelming she could not move.

Thus baby Merlin was born in the chilly field, his small pale buttocks bared for the world to see as the hastily summoned midwife held him and checked him over with an experienced eye.

"'e's a scrawny li'le beggar," she declared bluntly, "Like a baby sparra'. Look a' 'is stick legs."

In all honesty Hunith did not care that the child was undersized and as white as the snow that would soon blanket the land. Nor did she mind that his face was wizened like a newborn mastiff pup and his ears protruded from his head like opened clam shells. She registered his fragile shoulders and translucent skin but looked upon them with awe rather than disappointment. This was her babe. He was not robust, he was not pretty but he was alive and crying.

She picked up her alabaster infant, rearranged her skirts so she was decent and staggered to her feet with the help of the midwife's assistant.

"I want to find my husband," she whispered, determinedly.

Although Balinor had loved his child unconditionally, as all fathers did, it was awhile before he overcame the disappointment that the child was not like all the other baby boys. Nursed over the winter period, Merlin had to withstand many difficulties in his early months and, despite his tininess, he overcame the cold and the disease. He was internally strong – Balinor observed that – but on the outside he looked fragile as a bird and maintained his deathly white pallor. Harold Butcher's babe, born at the same time as his son, was pink and squalling and tough looking with chubby arms and a large head. The only large thing that infant Merlin could boast of were his ears, ever prominent and ever commented on by amused neighbours. The rest of him just didn't seem to grow quickly. Hunith often sighed about this and blamed the poor winter they were experiencing and the lack of sufficient nutrients for the babe in her milk.

Balinor could hold his son in the palm of one large hand for the first few days of his life and could still cradle him into two when he was two months old. Merlin was feather-light and bony so he had to be swaddled in plenty of blankets to keep him warm. If ever Balinor unearthed his small son from within the folds of the woollen blankets and touched his delicate limbs he was always afraid he would break a bone by accident. Fortunately, that never seemed to happen.

Eventually, Merlin did begin to grow properly but upwards and not outwards. There was no healthy meat on his bones. He also maintained his pasty complexion.

As parents, Balinor and Hunith were meant to see the beauty in their child, but even they could see he was a little peculiar looking. Aside from the protuberant ears, his face seemed too angular, his forehead too large and his cheekbones massively misshaped his features. He didn't have the soft, adorable cherubic look of most babies. But they still loved him.

And besides, Merlin had his eyes. They were his saving grace and what most polite strangers elected to focus on. An enigmatic blue, they were extremely unnerving and yet enrapturing at the same time. Sitting atop his peaked cheekbones, they were like two precious sapphires balanced precariously on snowy mountains. Unlike most babies who barely focused on one face or one object for more than a few seconds, Merlin would stare intensely at something for a long time before he seemed to decide he had committed its intricate details firmly to memory and could move on to the next.

It was when he was approaching a year in age that those objects began to move and Balinor realised just how unique his small, unattractive son was.

* * *

Merlin quailed under the scrutiny of the king and attempted to retreat behind his father's leg once more. Unfortunately, his father seemed to have other ideas and forced him to remain in front of him like a young, vulnerable rabbit caught in the hypnotising stare of a hungry fox. Quaking in his tatty leather boots, Merlin waited until the steely eyed king looked away and he could breathe again. His small fingers dug tightly into his father's thick trouser leg.

"This is a mockery," Uther stated, his flinty eyes flashing with anger. "You are a fool if you believe that boy can help my son. He is a child himself."

"Merlin's a special child," Balinor replied, cryptically, his expression calm.

The king's eyes narrowed. "He is a peasant's offspring. There is nothing special about that."

"My lord," Balinor continued unabashed and Uther didn't know whether to be offended or impressed by his confidence. "I suspect I know what is wrong with your heir - from what I have heard on the road - but may I see young Arthur to make sure I'm correct?"

Uther frowned suspiciously. He had not missed the subtle change of subject but he did not comment upon it. There could be no harm in letting this peasant see his son – briefly, of course.

"Very well."

* * *

Arthur's bedchambers were neat and tidy when they entered. The maid responsible for this was leaving just as they stepped over the threshold and she bowed hastily to the king before slipping outside. At first, it seemed that the room was empty but then they caught sight of a hunched little figure sitting on the ledge by the window. He was propped up by a few silk cushions and seemed to be staring out into the distance. As the group approached, Balinor couldn't help but register a kind of loneliness and wistfulness to the youngster's expression. The emotions seemed to mature for his youthful face.

"Arthur," Uther said brusquely.

The boy jumped to attention, his eyes wary for a second before they melted into a kind of indifference. He slipped gracefully off the cushions and stood in front of his imposing father, offering a gracious bow. The diminutive figure he cut seemed at odds with the kind of boy a prince was usually meant to be. There was nothing strong or even arrogant about this child.

"Father," he replied and then registered, with a start, they were in company. Smoothly he amended his greeting: "Sire."

"This man has come to visit you. His name is Balinor."

That same wary expression flitted across the boy's handsome young face and Balinor didn't miss it; it only served further his theory. Well, Merlin's theory.

"Good afternoon, Prince Arthur," Balinor said politely. "I was wondering if you would play with my son for a moment whilst I speak with your father."

Uther looked sharply at him but Balinor moved his hand in a small gesture to quell him. Once again, Uther found himself angry at this man's self-assurance but also once again he found himself complying with little protest. The two of them stepped a few metres away from the boys and Uther immediately asked, "What is the meaning of this? Playing with a peasant boy is not what Arthur needs!"

"Watch, my lord," Balinor replied, genially.

The two men watched as the children stood awkwardly across the room from them.

Ash-haired Merlin was the first to speak: "My name's Merlin. Nice ter meet you, Prince Arthur."

Arthur merely grunted.

Still, the little peasant boy persisted. "Do you wanna play knights? I'll be the bad one if you want."

Waxy-faced, Arthur stood rooted to the spot like a toy soldier, his gaze averted. Merlin jumped in front of him and Arthur's eyes widened with fear as his playmate pretended to thrust a sword into his belly.

"Argh! I gotcha!" Merlin whooped. "But really you shoulda stopped me 'cos, you know, the bad knight isn't meant ter win. My pa said good beats evil every time "And don't you forget it"." He mimicked his father's voice with uncanny accuracy, wagging his finger at the same time.

When Arthur didn't respond, Merlin looked thoughtful. He stepped forward and without warning touched the other child's cheek. It was smooth, almost like marble, beneath his soft fingertips. Something in Arthur's ocean-blue eyes made Merlin's spine tingle uncomfortably but, bravely, he didn't withdraw his touch.

"You don't like that do you?" he whispered, perceptively. "Its 'cos yer not you. At least I don't think yer you." Merlin frowned, contemplating his statement for a second.

Then his eyes turned gold.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note - Thanks for the lovely reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter :D **

* * *

"What is the meaning of this?" Uther roared as soon as he saw the tawny hue of Merlin's eyes. "Sorcery!"

He launched himself across the room with the intention of grabbing that peasant boy and ripping his hand off Arthur's face before running him through with a sword. However, he hadn't taken two steps before he felt Balinor dart past him and scoop his son up in protective arms, holding him tight against his broad chest. For a moment, Merlin turned his head and looked confused but then he seemed to register the anger in Uther's eyes and held on more tightly to his father, seeking safety.

Balinor glared back at Uther, one large hand cradling Merlin's head both for comfort and protection. His eyes flashed with undisguised resentment.

"You promised," he hissed between gritted teeth, "you promised on _your _son's life that you would not harm mine."

"That was before I knew he was a sorcerer. You tricked me!" Uther seethed.

Balinor scowled, his dark eyebrows knitting together. "I did not trick you. I merely told you I could help your son and, in all honesty, you did not take much persuading, _sire_. You _know _there's something wrong with him, otherwise you wouldn't have been desperate enough to allow a peasant to help. Therefore, you cannot condemn my son for using his gifts to ensure that the future king is safe!"

His chest heaving with fury and his blood thundering in his ears, Uther stared at the audacious, lying peasant with contempt. However, that hate dissipated when the king registered the son supported carefully and lovingly in Balinor's muscular arms. He could see the boy's tiny white fingers digging into the man's tunic, seeking the warmth and comfort only a father could give in such a stressful time. Merlin's peculiar little face was tucked into his father's armpit, using the big, strong man as a human shield. Uther looked to his own marble-skinned, indifferent son and felt his heart wrench.

He didn't have that kind of relationship with Arthur who didn't seek physical touch like most children and remained impassive if he were to ever receive a hug or a pat on the head from anyone. Uther supposed he'd kind of ignored this strangeness but, witnessing Merlin clinging desperately to his father, he realised that Arthur was very abnormal. Children naturally stuck close to parents so they could survive. He knew animals in the wild did the same: bear cubs clung to their mothers and wolf pups sought safety in numbers, skittering beneath their mother's paws.

Feeling suddenly very unsure of himself, the king halted in his tracks and paused in deep thought. He was very aware of Balinor watching his every move.

"Arthur," he finally said, "Come here."

The golden haired prince complied immediately and ended up standing about a foot away from him, waiting for the next instruction. However, he was stunned when Uther bent down and caught his small pointed chin in his hand, lifting it so he could see better. A small tremor ran through Arthur's body; with direct skin-to-skin contact Uther felt the shiver and frowned. Was his son fearful of him? Or was he shuddering at the feeling of the king's rough fingers on his smooth, baby-soft skin? Although Uther knew it was not unusual for a son – especially that of a king – to feel frightened by their imposing fathers he had an uneasy, unpleasant feeling that it was actually the latter reason responsible for Arthur's reaction.

Carefully, he drew the child into a sort of awkward embrace. Rather then melding to his touch, Arthur remained rigid in his arms like an unfeeling block of stone. Uther felt shocked and dejected by the entire encounter. Especially when Arthur said, questioningly: "Father, what are you doing?"

Sadly, Uther released his blank-faced son and turned to Balinor. "How can _magic_ help him then?" His tone was defeated and mildly anxious. He had dabbled with magic before and he knew how badly it could double-cross him but if it was the only way to help his son then surely he could not prohibit it. Vaguely, he was aware of the hypocrisy of his actions but frankly, where Arthur was concerned, he didn't give a damn.

"Let Merlin continue what he was doing," Balinor replied, "But I must ask you to keep a distance away….my lord." His voice was full of mistrust. He didn't want Uther to have a chance at hurting his child. Therefore, the king could only concede to his wishes and move to the stone wall at the edge of the chamber.

"Right, Merlin," the peasant man whispered in the delicate shell of his son's ear, "I want you to work out exactly what is wrong with Arthur. You worked out it was a magical problem but now I want you to tell me what it is, got it?"

Merlin gave an almost imperceptible nod. His eyes were a little watery but he slipped down from the safety of his father's arms and took a tentative step towards Arthur. Occasionally, he would throw a darting glance at Uther who was shrouded in shadows and the king could see the doubt and fear in his expression. However, Uther had to admire his courage somewhat as the little boy continued to put one small booted foot in front of the other. Eventually he reached his target.

This time Merlin didn't bother with play-talk, instead he reached straight for Arthur's round cheeks, his hands like nimble white spiders tiptoeing across the pale pink surface. Abruptly, he seemed to select a suitable stop on the prince's temples and his eyes suddenly blazed like they were on fire. Uther stared, repulsed and enraptured. A strange quietness fell across the room with an eeriness that felt like they were underwater…

But this tranquillity was unexpectedly broken when Arthur let out a screech of what sounded like a mixture of pain, fear and…was that fury? Uther didn't care; he jumped and rushed towards the boy, his heart somersaulting in his chest. All Balinor's warnings were left forgotten because his child – his _heir_ – was in danger and he had _allowed _it to happen!

However, before he could reach the pair of youngsters, something was hurled across the room. The moment he heard Balinor's anguished yell, he realised that that 'something' was Merlin, flying through the air like a ragdoll shot from a cannon. He hit the far wall with a sickening crunch and dropped to the ground, unmoving. Balinor charged towards the huddled figure whilst Uther focused on his own child.

Grabbing each of Arthur's pale limbs, he couldn't find a single thing wrong with the boy, nothing to warrant the unearthly sound he had made a moment ago. An uncertain frown darkened Uther's chiselled features. He caught his son's head between his large, rough hands and stared into Arthur's eyes. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to see but he just sensed that this needed to be done. Therefore, he almost lost his balance when he saw his child's eyes were not sky blue but crimson – so deep and vivid they were almost screaming at him. Uther reeled like he had been punched in the gut.

A second later the red was gone but the image of the fearsome pair of eyes was forever seared into Uther's memory.

"Arthur," he choked like a man who had just lost everything in the world. In a sense, he had.

"Father?"

Arthur looked concerned and reached out to steady him but Uther was having none of it. He lurched away as if he had been scalded but didn't take his eyes off the son that seemed so alien to him now. An unfamiliar emotion flashed through the prince's pale blue eyes and it took a moment for Uther to realise what it was: disdain. Bewildered, Uther continued to stare at the child. That was until he felt a hard, bony hand grip his shoulder and spin him round.

Balinor's voice was rough with emotion. "Physician?" he grunted, "Where's your physician?"

In his arms lay the small, lifeless body of his son, looking even smaller and more fragile now he wasn't moving. A dark trickle of blood worked its way down Merlin's forehead from his messy hairline, following the angular ridge of his eyebrow before dropping off the edge. Uther watched a drop fall in slow motion - a shiny red pearl - before it hit the smooth floor and exploded. Several more droplets followed in sickeningly slow succession.

"Is he even alive?" Uther asked, unintentionally insensitive. He was answered with a glower. "Gaius. He's the physician. His chambers are…are…I'll take you."

Electing to go with the peasant and his wounded son rather then spend anymore time in the room, Uther swung open the door and swept along the corridor. The heavy footsteps behind him indicated that Balinor was following at a fast pace, desperate to get his son treatment. The pair of them burst through the double doors of the physician's rooms and looked quickly around. A pair of surprised eyes looked up at them from a desk in the middle of the disorganised chamber.

"My lord," Gaius said, clambering to his feet, "What is…?"

"The boy, Gaius," Uther replied, bluntly, gesturing to the limp child in the arms of the frantic peasant. "Treat him."

"Of course!" The older man trotted towards his examination bench and beckoned for the stranger to bring the youngster over. "Put him down, put him down," he ordered, urgently.

Balinor registered the pompous, all-knowing tone to Gaius' voice that most physicians had and didn't really like it but he wasn't about to argue. He lay his tiny son down as gently as possible and couldn't help but choke on the lump in his throat as he saw how broken he looked. Why had he brought him here? Why? This had all been a terrible mistake. If Merlin died…he could barely contemplate the thought of life without his small, unique son. And Hunith….she would _never _forgive him.

Merlin _had _to live.

"Right, tell me _exactly _what happened!" Gaius demanded as he began checking Merlin's body. The way he poked and prodded at the toddler's frail frame irritated Balinor – who was sure the physician in his village was better - but he refrained from saying anything. "The quicker you tell me the quicker I can help," the greying haired man urged and that's when Balinor realised he hadn't replied.

Swallowing heavily, he said, "He was thrown the length of a room and hit the wall. Hard."

He coughed, uncomfortably, before scrubbing at his eyes and Uther realised he was covering up his sobs. Uther was surprised at such rawness and vulnerability in the man who had been so confident in his chambers earlier. However, he did not pass judgement on the peasant. If anything, it made him warm to him slightly.

"Who threw him? Was it a man? Was it you?" Gaius challenged, anger flashing in his eyes. Dextrous fingers skimmed over the tender wound on Merlin's temple, assessing the damage.

"No!" Balinor growled, obviously offended, "Of course not."

Gaius stared at him, unconvinced.

Uther stepped in. "It was Arthur, Gaius. Arthur threw him."

For a moment, Gaius just looked stunned but then he seemed to gather his wits enough to continue working on Merlin. "Don't just stand there, man," he barked at Balinor, "Get me some water, some towels, some willow bark, some warm vinegar, some yarrow and….mint. Quickly or do you want your son to die?"

Gaius' sharp eyes pierced his own and Balinor found himself crying out: "You can't let him!"

"I shall try my best but head wounds are notoriously unpredictable. We can never tell when the patient will wake and when they will not."

Balinor looked gutted. "Does he….does he have any other injuries other than that one?"

"His shoulder is dislocated – I will be able to fix that - and he is badly bruised but those are treatable." The child's father nodded mutely and stumbled off to find what Gaius needed.

Gaius looked to his king. "What happened?" he asked, softly.

"I don't know, Gaius," Uther replied, shakily, "I really don't know."

**Please review. And I know Gaius seems bossy but bear with me... :D **


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note - Thank you soo much for the reviews. They were all very kind and I'm glad you're all enjoying the story. I don't envisage that it will be much longer than about eight chapters. Just to give you all warning :D x**

An owl hooted softly as she soared effortlessly around the battlements of the whitest castle in the entire region. Her pale silhouette was like a ghost, shimmering against the silky black sky and her sharp beak glinted in the moonlight. Luminous eyes scanned the castle grounds for easy prey and found some in the form of a solitary kitchen mouse that scampered from beneath the door of the store-house. It was plump and lazy having gorged on rich corn all its life. The castle mousers were fairly useless and so the rodents of Camelot Castle had grown used to a life of plenty. Thus they made easy pickings for the clever predators outside the castle that had recently discovered this ready food supply. The lone barn owl was one such predator.

Silently she swooped down towards the ground, her massive claws outstretched and her large eyes focused on the mouse. Hard talon met with soft underbelly as her claws closed around the furry body. The mouse screeched in pain and then fell silent. The coppery tang of fresh blood joined the multitude of smells in the courtyard: freshly cut corn, stale fish, the fruity stench of ale, rotten vegetables and ripe horse dung. It was soon lost among those more pungent odours.

The owl landed high up on a window sill to enjoy her kill.

The gentle tearing of flesh woke Merlin from unconsciousness and his eyelids fluttered open. For a moment he wasn't sure where he was, the ceiling above him was high – unlike the low-beamed cottage he lived in with his parents – and his surroundings were cluttered with books and vials and bottles and all sorts of detritus he didn't recognise.

Disorientated, he sat up…and immediately regretted it as a rush of dizziness and nausea threatened to overwhelm him. He vomited instantly, all over the flagstone floor. As soon as he had he felt his head clear and his vision didn't swim so much anymore. His head still throbbed a bit and his shoulder ached but he could ignore those hindrances with the will of the youthful. That's when he registered the sleeping figure of his father, slumped in a chair beside the bed. Balinor's mouth was agape and he snored loudly. Fortunately, it didn't bother Merlin because he was used to it – sleeping in the same house for four years meant he had learnt to tune it out.

There didn't seem to be anyone else about and it was gloomy. A few candles flickered on tall stands, illuminating the chamber. Merlin slithered like a snake off the hard exam bed and dropped awkwardly to the floor. He was as graceless as a dog that had drunk his master's spilt wine, limbs collapsing beneath him like card towers, but unfortunately he couldn't blame that entirely on the concussion. He was just naturally uncoordinated. Wobbling slightly, he padded across the cold, hard floor realising that his feet were bare. Someone had taken his boots! Merlin was indignant at the notion but his grievances were soon swept away by his interest in the owl that was leisurely eating its dinner on the stone sill.

The creature had yet to hear him so he crept closer; balancing on his toes like his father always told him to do when they went hunting for rabbits. Unfortunately, he wasn't looking where he was going and walked straight into the corner of a stupidly placed desk. Yowling in pain, Merlin hopped up and down. Therefore it took him a moment to realise that he'd shifted the perfect equilibrium of the books balanced in a tower on the edge of the desk. They teetered ominously and Merlin squeaked, thrusting his hand towards them in the hope of stopping the avalanche. This had little effect, however, and the pile of heavy books thundered towards him so quickly that he only just had time to dive out of the way. The noise of the tomes slamming into the flagstone floor was deafening in the silence that had previously occupied the room. Merlin merely stared, his mouth hanging open in horror. Briefly, his eyes flitted to the window and he saw the owl had vanished, scared away by all the commotion.

There was a groan of tiredness from behind him.

"What's going on?" his father's voice asked, thick with sleep as he looked blearily around him. His eyes fell upon the empty bed and he felt his heart jump with fear, mind rushing to awful conclusions. Immediately he was on his feet and looking wildly for where his son had gone. "Merlin!"

"I'm here Pa," Merlin squeaked, sure that he was going to be in terrible trouble for the mess he'd caused.

However, as soon as Balinor's dark eyes sought Merlin's small shadowy figure out, the man let out a strangled cry of joy. His son was alive and awake! The euphoric relief threatened to overwhelm him and he felt his eyes become watery. Within a few large strides the peasant had wrapped his arms around Merlin and drawn him into a bear hug.

"My boy," he murmured into Merlin's downy black hair, "You're all right."

"'Course I am Pa, why wouldn't I be?"

Balinor didn't reply. He merely grinned goofily at his son and then planted a wet kiss on his forehead. Although, usually, Merlin would have complained, he decided against it this time as his father seemed to take so much pleasure in the simple – if embarrassing – action. Therefore he endured for his father's sake.

Reluctant to place Merlin on the floor, Balinor tenderly checked the boy's head wound whilst he sat in his arms. "Does it hurt?" he asked, gruffly.

"A little bit," Merlin shrugged, bravely.

Balinor smiled on the outside but felt his heart tighten his son's pain. "It'll feel better soon," he promised.

Merlin merely nodded contentedly and placed his cheek on Balinor's chest, using him as a ready-made pillow. Cautiously, the bearded peasant took a couple of precise steps back and lowered himself slowly into the chair he had previously occupied. He was careful not to jostle Merlin as it was obvious that he had fallen into an exhausted sleep and Balinor didn't wish to take that peace away from him. One of his large hands dropped onto Merlin's back - feeling the bones curving in his spine - and pressed the child closer to him.

* * *

Sunlight streamed through the open window and bathed Gaius' chambers in a gloriously bright glow. A door creaked open and Gaius stepped out of his small bedroom and walked down the short flight of stairs that led to the main chamber. With each step his knees groaned and protested noisily. He was getting too old for this – soon he would have to sleep in the main room permanently if only to save his withering joints.

Yawning and scratching his head, his heart gave a little jolt of shock as he realised he wasn't alone in the chamber. Ah yes, he remembered now: that little raven-headed boy had been brought in yesterday evening by his father and the king. He had had some nasty injuries but, by the looks of things, he must have woken up at some point. That was good.

The acrid smell of vomit invaded Gaius' nose and he was mildly irritated when he caught sight of the pool of sick that had dried on his nice, clean stone floor. However, he had to admit that was another good sign that the peasant boy would return to full health.

He wasn't sure why he, the castle physician, had been asked to look after a village boy who wasn't even from Camelot but King Uther had been adamant he should receive the best care possible and Gaius wasn't going to argue. Especially when it seemed that young Arthur had caused the injuries to the small pale-skinned toddler. It was strange, Gaius was sure in all the years he'd known the prince he hadn't seen him hurt a fly. Every time Uther tried to teach him anything to do with violence the boy would shy away, preferring to bury his head in a book and he never involved himself in the rough and tumble that other youngsters did. Something must have really upset him for him to react in such a way.

Gaius was therefore very interested in the little boy curled up in his father's protective arms.

Shuffling around his chambers, Gaius mopped up the sick and gathered up a large pile of books that had somehow ended up on the floor – he guessed it must have been a gust of wind. Then he collected some suitable medicines that would help with the child's recovery. Through all this activity neither the boy nor his father woke up and Gaius decided that it was time to coax them awake. His patient needed checking over and then he also needed to eat some breakfast in order to heal more successfully.

Gently, the physician shook the bony shoulder of the tall peasant man and was greeted by a pair of dark brown eyes. The man blinked a few times and then yawned widely. His jaw creaked.

"Good morning," he murmured to Gaius. He ran a tanned hand over his stubbly beard, flattening the wayward hairs.

"The boy needs waking. I need to give him some medicine and then he must eat."

"His name's Merlin by the way," the man stated, his dark eyebrows knitted in annoyance, "Since you didn't ask."

"Hmm…." Gaius nodded but he was barely listening because he had caught sight of someone standing in the doorway behind the peasant.

"And my name is Balinor," Balinor continued, his irritation increasing when he saw that the physician was ignoring him. What kind of physician didn't listen to his patients? In fact, what kind of man was so rude as to not even ask a stranger his name? Balinor's dislike of Gaius increased.

To this hostility, the older man was oblivious because he had more important matters to deal with, such as the fact that King Uther was standing at the entrance to his chambers with a peculiar expression on his face. It was one that Gaius could not even hope to decipher so he merely bowed politely and greeted his monarch.

"My lord, what brings…?"

"The boy?" Uther said, abruptly.

"He's recovering, sire," Gaius replied, quickly.

As if to back up this statement, Merlin's delicate eyelids flickered open and his blue gaze took in the scene groggily. His scruffy black hair was fluffy one side and flat on the other from where he'd been pressed up against his father's chest. A small frown line formed between his dark eyebrows as he tried to work out what was going on. Eventually he just seemed to give up, shrugging his thin shoulders, and waited impatiently for the adults to finish speaking.

Uther stared for a good few seconds at the child and nodded. "Good. See that he gets the best care possible."

"Yes, my lord."

"In the meantime, Balinor, I wish to speak with you privately." He beckoned, commandingly, for the rough-looking peasant man.

Balinor looked decidedly torn, his gaze flitting from his king to his son and back like an indecisive bird choosing where to land. Ultimately, he realised that Merlin would be fine for a few minutes to eat breakfast and that he should probably obey his king if he wanted to keep his head firmly attached to his neck. Gently pushing Merlin off his lap, he stood up and stretched.

"Pa?" Merlin asked, patting his leg questioningly.

"You wait here for a bit, son, with the physician."

Merlin looked a little upset but he nodded staunchly and turned to Gaius.

"Pa said I should wait with you."

"I heard," Gaius replied, one greying eyebrow arching. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"Yes!" Merlin squeaked in delight, his stomach rumbling. However, he received a sharp look from his father and quickly added, "Please." He looked at his feet, guiltily, his ears reddening.

"Good boy," Balinor grunted before turning to follow his king through the door.

* * *

The boy ate with a kind of wolfish eagerness, scooping down spoonfuls of porridge and swallowing great hunks of bread like they would be his last. Gaius had recognised that he was skinny – this was a characteristic of all peasants – but he hadn't realised how starving the child would be. By the time he'd polished off two bowls and half a loaf, Gaius felt that he should probably intervene before Merlin made himself sick. A quick hand snatched the remainder of the bread away and Merlin let out a cry of protest.

"It's for your own good, Merlin," Gaius said firmly, "You've eaten too much already."

"I could _never _eat too much!" Merlin gasped; his eyes wide at the idea.

Gaius' lips twisted into a smile at the boy's indignation and he shook his head. "I've already had to clean up you sick once. I'm not doing it again and that's the end of it." He gave the child a warning look – well, what he hoped was a warning look – and gestured to the mop standing to one side. "Anyway…" Gaius carried on tidying up. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much," Merlin piped in his musical voice.

"Excellent. That's excellent."

Busying himself with washing the dirty porridge pot, Gaius did not notice his guest slip down from the table and onto the hard, wooden floor. Merlin managed to land softly – for once – and he crawled quickly along on all fours so that the old man wouldn't see him. A small mischievous grin quirked his pink lips as he continued on his escape mission. Whenever he did something naughty he couldn't help give himself away, especially to his mother, as he always smiled. Hunith always knew when he was guilty of letting the chickens out or spilling the contents of the cooking pot. Then again, she also got clues of his misdoings from the white feathers stuck, rather revealingly, in his jet-black hair or the smears of creamy pottage slopped onto his boots. Merlin was always stunned when she worked out he was the culprit; he had no idea how she did it.

Scrambling across the final stretch to the door, Merlin spared one last glance over his shoulder to see Gaius bobbing his head and humming quietly to himself, before he scooted through the small crack between the wall and the door. He couldn't help the soft giggle that escaped his lips.

Once in the corridor he caught sight of his father and the tall man with the proud face. Merlin crept closer.

They were standing in a shallow alcove, shadowed by the protruding ceiling. Pa had his back to him but Merlin could tell by his tone and stance that he was quietly angry. He always used that soft but furious voice when Merlin had done something very, very bad but this time it seemed ten times worse. He was glad he wasn't on its receiving end. Curiously, he edged further down the corridor, flattening himself against the wall like he did when he played spies with Will.

Harsh voices reached his innocent ears.

"Tell me what is wrong with my son!" Uther demanded angrily. "I saw his eyes! They were red. You knew there was something wrong and now you must tell _me_." The straight-backed man managed to look both superior and scared at the same time. He lowered his voice, suddenly, "Has he been possessed?" His tone was unmistakably panicked.

Merlin's father shook his head. "I do not believe so sire but I cannot help you anymore. My son has been seriously injured and I must take him home to his mother…"

"You _can't_!" Uther interrupted, jabbing a finger at the peasant. "I _forbid _you to leave until you have fixed my son!"

"You can't forbid me from looking after my wounded child!" Balinor hissed. His brown eyes hardened.

"I am your king and you must obey me."

"My son comes first, always."

"_My _son, prince and future _King _of Camelot comes first and don't you forget it, peasant!"

Balinor growled deep in his throat but said nothing.

"You came here to offer your services. You came here and made _this _happen…whatever _this _is…and now you must help Arthur."

"Your son was altered before I came," Balinor replied, sharply. He was not going to be blamed for this.

There was a pause and then Uther sighed, defeatedly. "I concede that you may be correct but I want you to return him to normal."

"I'm sorry, my lord, but I don't know what exactly is wrong with him and with Merlin out of action there is not a lot I _can _do."

For the first time Balinor's dark eyes shone with sympathy for the desperate king and he felt his heart twinge to see a fellow father frantically trying to help his son. But still, he had his own child to think about. That close shave had put things into perspective.

Uther looked crushed.

"I know what's wrong with Arthur," Merlin declared, bravely, his soprano voice trilling surprisingly loudly in the empty corridor.

Both men turned to stare at the boy and, belatedly, Merlin realised that perhaps he wasn't meant to have been listening to their private conversation. Still, it was too late now.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note - Thank you very much for the encouraging reviews! Sorry for the wait. I've been very busy preparing for my interview. I can't help but tell everyone so sorry but you'll have to be subject to my excitement too! I've got an interview for Medical School at Liverpool University! Soooooo excited. I've wanted this for sooo long. **

**Love you guys and please be as lovely as you always are and review! :D **

Uther's expression was a mixture of relief and trepidation. He was relieved as someone could finally tell him what was wrong with Arthur and he was uneasy because he didn't know how badly his son was broken. If the problem was irreparable then he wasn't sure he _wanted _to know. However, the curiosity won out and he took a large step towards the peasant boy.

"Tell me!" he demanded, his tone brokering no argument.

Merlin's face tightened in fear and he retreated, almost tripping up on an uneven flagstone as he did so. He was like a skittish colt shying away from danger, hoping to seek the protection of his mother but finding, to his alarm, that his mother was too far away to help. Instead he stood alone and fearful in the middle of the wide passageway, blue eyes as round as dinner plates. His chin wobbled.

"My lord." Balinor caught his monarch's richly embroidered sleeve in quick fingers and held him back – he was determined not to let go until the king had cooled down.

"Release me," Uther snapped, his slate-grey eyes narrowing.

"I will if you take a moment to calm down and let my son speak. Remember, he's only four years old." Balinor managed to maintain a calm voice.

Uther stopped fighting him and fell still in his grip. "Fine." He didn't like being told what to do by a peasant but he could understand what Balinor meant – he recognised that Merlin was quivering and he couldn't help but feel slightly guilty. "I'm….sorry, Merlin. Please…will you tell me what you believe is wrong with my son?" Each word seemed a wrench.

Briefly, Merlin's gaze flickered to his father, seeking comfort and approval. Balinor looked at him solemnly and nodded. The wiry-haired peasant realised that now Merlin had revealed that he knew something there was no way the two of them could escape this situation. He really wanted to take his son away from the danger but there was nothing he could do. He wondered what Hunith would think of his weak parenting.

"Go on, Mer, tell the king what you know."

Sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, Merlin looked directly into Uther's steely eyes. "The prince is not the prince at all. He is a magic person," Merlin said, softly, "I can see it…in his eyes."

"_What_?" Uther roared.

Merlin reeled backwards, his heart rapidly beating against his small ribs like a frightened bird trapped in a cage.

"Sire…" Balinor said, warningly.

Uther brushed him off. "Yes. Yes. I'm not going to do anything to the boy. Tell me, Merlin, what kind of…" He gulped hard, almost choking on the bitter word. "_Magic_ person is…it?"

"I dunno," Merlin admitted, worriedly, "But he weren't happy when I touched him. He's not hoo-man anyway."

Uther's face was purpling and the vein in his head throbbed violently. The heavy thud of his footfalls echoed along the corridor as he paced back and forth. Occasionally, he would slam a fist against the rough stone wall in anger and Merlin watched with his jaw hanging open.

Suddenly, he stopped. "I must fetch the imposter, interrogate him and then torture him for what he's done!" With a swish of his deep blue cloak, Uther marched off down the corridor.

Balinor took a moment to process what he'd said but as soon as he did he felt his heart drop into his boots. As much as he didn't like the child for throwing Merlin across the room and as much as he was certain he was not a child but some kind of magical creature, he wouldn't stand to see a toddler interrogated and tortured – even if it meant standing up to the king of Camelot. Catching his own son beneath the armpits, he lifted him onto his hip and hurried down the corridor. Merlin's bony knee dug into his stomach but he ignored it.

"Pa! Where we going?" Merlin murmured, bemused.

"To find Arthur."

The small boy frowned. "But I told you. He's not Arthur."

"I know, Merlin, I know but…" Balinor kissed the top of Merlin's head, "you don't need to worry about it now, alright? You did your bit. Now Pa has to do his bit."

Merlin nodded silently.

* * *

Swiftly, Balinor placed his son on the floor outside the large oak door and told him to stay put. He wasn't sure what he would find inside Arthur's bedchambers and he was reluctant to expose Merlin to anything that could upset him or damage him in anyway. The boy had been hurt physically enough already without adding emotional scarring. Usually Merlin wasn't one to stick to the rules set out for him – he seemed to have an aversion to authority as Hunith and Balinor had discovered time and time again – and so Balinor wasn't sure if he would do as he was told this time. Nevertheless, he tried his best to emphasis the great need for Merlin to obey him just this once.

Patting Merlin on the head briefly, Balinor turned and pushed open the doors, bracing himself for what he was about to see.

A strange hissing noise reached Balinor's ears as soon as he crossed the threshold and he strained in order seek out the source but he couldn't see anyone in the main chamber. Tentatively, he progressed further into the room, performing a cursory sweep of the space for danger before moving on a couple more steps. He wasn't sure whether he should make his presence known by speaking or coughing or whether to keep the element of surprise. Eventually he decided on the latter.

As he pressed on the noise became louder and harsher like the hiss of water as it splashed onto hot coals. He felt all the muscles in his body tense up with anxiety. What on earth could be causing such a sound?

He got his answer and, to be honest, it was quite a shock.

The unearthly noise was being made by Arthur, his small mouth contorted into an irregular shape as he hissed deep in his throat. Balinor was reminded of the village cats that would hiss and spit and scratch in order to protect what scraps they could find. Arthur even had the look of a feral cat, his eyes flashing and his body curved in a springy crouch as if he was waiting to pounce if threatened too much. For the first time, Balinor was actually scared of the toddler. Wild animals were most dangerous when they were cornered and they had nothing to lose.

Uther whipped around upon hearing his footfalls and yelled, hysterically, "See! He's a monster! My son has been replaced by a _monster_!" The cracks in his voice were audible. Balinor couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

"My lord…" Balinor began, hoping to reason with him.

"What can I do? Where is my son? Where is my _real _son?" Uther choked to Balinor. Then he turned back to the animalistic boy. "Tell me where my son is, you wretched thing!"

Balinor had been about to interrupt again but he was stopped when the fake Arthur paused, seeming more human for a moment. "Your child is gone. He has been gone for years!" His voice was different, raw and unearthly. It sent shivers down Balinor's spine and made the hairs stand up on his neck.

"What? No!" Uther yelled, distraught. It was as if every word the creature spoke caused a physical blow to the once strong man. The gutting of the King of Camelot was not a pretty sight. "It can't be…you can't be…no…my son…"

Seeing the devastating effect his words were having on the king, the boy continued. "He was taken when he was one year old and you did not even notice the swap. You have loved me like your son when I have no love for you or your kingdom at all…"

"No!" Uther roared, seeing red.

Launching himself forward, Uther had drawn his sword from his scabbard and was ready to plunge the blade into the small body of Arthur's doppelganger. For a moment, the creature's snarling mask slipped and he became a terrified little boy again, blue eyes shining with fear. Balinor's heart skipped a beat; there was no way he could reach the toddler in time.

* * *

"What are you up to, boy?" Gaius asked as he came across the small raven-headed child pacing nervously in the corridor. Merlin's booted feet scuffed on the smooth flagstones and Gaius knew the maids would be displeased by his unnecessary damage of their floor. However, that thought slipped his mind completely when he saw the agitated expression on the boy's face. His eyes kept flicking from the door to the walls to the floor and to the door again. His small, white teeth nibbled his bottom lip incessantly.

Concerned, Gaius moved towards him. "Merlin? What's the matter?"

At the sound of his name, Merlin glanced up and caught sight of the grey-haired physician. His heartbeat quickened as he tried to decide what to reply. This whole situation was much too complicated and adult for him to comprehend. He didn't know what was going on behind those doors. He didn't know why his father said that Arthur was Arthur when he clearly wasn't. And he didn't know whether his father would want Gaius to know what was going on. Therefore, Merlin clamped his mouth shut.

"Merlin?" Gaius persisted, placing a calming hand on the boy's pointed shoulder, halting him in his restless pacing. "Tell me what's wrong Merlin."

"I….I…." Merlin stammered, his throat constricting on each word. "I don't think I can tell you."

"Well, don't if you don't want to. Where's your father?"

Merlin's eyes filled with tears; misery and helplessness emanated from his small frame in waves. He felt his jaw wobbling treacherously and he knew he was about to break. He just wanted someone to hold onto. Without thinking the boy hurried forwards and threw himself into Gaius' knees, clutching at the folds of his cloak and burying his snotty nose in the rough material. It was warm and smelt like herbs and the musky scent of man and Merlin was immediately comforted.

Seeing the boy in such a distressed state had caused a strange shift inside Gaius and he felt something he hadn't experienced before. It took a moment for him to identify the sensation and he realised it was a paternal twinge. He'd never had children of his own and he hadn't had many dealings with them – being the castle physician he tended to deal with adults as there were no children in the castle – obviously that changed when Arthur was born but he hadn't exactly built a strong relationship with the remote, uncommunicative child. Therefore this emotion was very new to him.

There was a certain rawness to Merlin - a vulnerability and innocence - that drew Gaius in and he found himself desperately wanting to fix whatever was upsetting the child.

Tentatively, Gaius patted the boy's fluffy hair and said once more, "Tell me what's wrong Merlin and maybe I can help."

Deciding to trust the relative stranger, merely because he reminded him of his father, Merlin nodded and murmured, softly, "Arthur ain't Arthur. He's a magic creature. The king yelled a lot and went ter find Arthur. My pa went in-ter that room with them ter do 'his bit'."

Stunned by Merlin's revelation, it took Gaius a moment to gather his wits but when he did he realised what was going on behind those doors. Not even stopping to think any further, Gaius charged through the doors and was just in time to provide an adequate distraction for the king. Surprised by the abrupt intrusion, Uther stumbled and gave the fake Arthur time to dart out of the way. The boy made a break for the door but Balinor was there to catch him in strong arms. Arthur shrieked and struggled and bit but still the peasant man held onto him with a stoical expression on his face.

Everyone seemed a bit confused by the sudden change of events. They were like sheep, dazed and lost after a colossal storm, wondering where to go. It was Gaius who spoke first.

"Sire…." he began, uncertainly. "What's going on?"

The king barely spared him a glance. His focus was once again on the boy, eyeing him like a hawk would a sparrow. However, he wasn't completely oblivious to Balinor's thunderous expression.

"I won't allow you to hurt him, my lord." Balinor was surprised at the strength and confidence of his own voice.

Uther frowned. "Why are you protecting him?" He still hadn't lowered his sword. "I could run you through you know. You're unarmed. I need to kill that…that…monster!" His steel eyes flashed like a blade in the sun.

"I'm protecting him because you need him to find your son."

"My son is dead!" Uther cried, anguished.

"Not necessarily," Balinor replied, sharply.

There was an almost tangible pause. "What do you mean? Of course he is! They killed him years ago!"

Gaius decided now was his time to intervene. "My lord, I imagine that what Balinor means is that, most likely, a link with the original Arthur must have been maintained so that this one could look and grow exactly like him. Therefore he cannot be dead."

As if to confirm this, the fake Arthur let out a howl of anger and resumed his struggle in Balinor's stone-like grip.

Hope filled Uther's face like the sun breaking through black storm clouds. His whole face became less haggard, less anger-filled and the tension that had held his whole body rigid, like a shackled prisoner, dissipated. His eyes shone with salty, almost disbelieving tears.

"You mean there's still a chance that I can get my son back?"

"I believe so, my lord," Gaius nodded, sagely.

"But you _must _not kill the boy as he's our only lead," Balinor added. His tone was firm.

"Well, I'll have to interrogate him," Uther said, eyeing the child with an unreadable expression.

"But no torture. He's still a child, my lord."

"Fine….no torture," Uther agreed and paused, "unless, he does not tell us where Arthur is. Then I will have no choice."

As much as he did not like the idea, Balinor doubted if he could change the king's mind now. He'd done what he could. It was up to the changeling now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note - Thank you very much for the lovely reviews! The finale is looking pretty dramatic so far. Really glad that 'you know who' (for those who haven't seen it) was found out! :D **

**Watch out for Morgana's very brief cameo! :D **

The steady thud of Uther's boots on the wooden floorboards filled the otherwise quiet room. However, internally, the continuous thrumming of his blood through his veins was deafening. He could feel his heart pumping the warm, red liquid round his body, feeding his tense muscles with oxygen. Each gulp of air was a strain, battling to get past the immovable lump in his throat and his eyes felt scratchy and heavy. In fact, it seemed as if all his senses were threatening to overwhelm him, drown him like a man helplessly adrift at sea.

It was only the small hope of retrieving the thing most precious in his life that kept him afloat – barely.

Sitting on a straight-backed chair, his hands tied tightly behind his back and his small legs dangling childishly above the floor, the boy Uther had believed to be his son stared stonily back at him. His blond hair was unkempt and his eyes were dark with animosity, drilling holes into Uther's already damaged soul.

Hefting a deep breath from his lungs, Uther swivelled on his heel and glared at the imposter. The imposter glowered back.

"Tell me where my son is!"

"I shall not."

"Tell me!"

"There is nothing for me to gain from telling you," the boy replied, craftily, "So why should I bother? You would kill me as soon as you knew. I've seen you do it before, I'm not stupid…._Father_." He said the last word with relish, satisfied when he saw Uther visibly flinch at the familiar term.

Uther could barely stop himself throttling the boy. "Don't you _ever _call me that again!" he roared, advancing rapidly.

Seeing he was in a small amount of danger the doppelganger shrugged, ready to cut his losses. "I only get a small pleasure out of using such crude terminology anyway. It's not worth the hassle." Uther practically growled, his face purpling. However, the boy continued, "Then again, if I were you I wouldn't be so quick to throw our relationship – albeit a fake one – away. I mean, there is no chance of you ever being called 'Father' again, is there?"

Uther lost it.

Fortunately, Balinor was on hand to step in and catch the king before he killed their only lead. He knew that Uther was finding it difficult to keep a level head in this situation – frankly, he didn't blame him - so he had taken it upon himself to be a passive observer and only intervene when things got too heated. Such as was the case now.

"My lord! My lord!" he soothed, grabbing the man around the shoulders and holding him still. "Be calm. You _need _him."

"I do not! I'd rather tear him limb from limb and find Arthur myself!" Uther screamed, thrashing wildly in Balinor's grip. "Unhand me or I'll execute you!"

Even with such a threat from the King of Camelot himself, Balinor surprised even himself and did not let go. At this point even he wasn't sure why he was standing in the king's way, especially if it meant risking his own life but somehow he knew it was the right thing to do. There was some feeling deep inside him that they _had _to use this changeling to find Arthur and that they _had _to find Arthur at all costs. He was a kidnapped child, yes. He was the king's son and only heir, yes. But Balinor felt like the reason for finding him was even bigger than all those things. Unfortunately, he did not know what that reason was yet.

"My lord, please! To find your son, to find Arthur, you need to let him live It's the _only _way!" Balinor cried, desperately. "If you don't then you'll never see your son!"

That last sentence seemed to get through to him and Uther stilled in his arms. Balinor allowed himself to breathe a small sigh of relief and tried to ignore the multitude of bruises that Uther had just inflicted upon him. He knew he would ache in the morning.

There was silence that followed the outburst and Balinor observed as Uther's rage seemed to dissipate. The strong, angry man melted away.

"But how can I make him speak, Balinor?" Uther asked, defeated, his voice small and very un-Uther-like. His yellowish eyes were sad like a baby owl with no idea which way to go.

"You can't _make _him speak, my lord," Balinor replied, softly. "You must persuade him. Deal with him. Make him want to tell you."

"I don't think I can."

"You must. For your son's sake."

Uther paused and then nodded, his eyes flicking to the boy and back. "I'll try."

* * *

Gaius was on baby-sitting duty. He wasn't quite sure how that had come about but here he found himself keeping a watchful eye on the offspring of a complete stranger whilst trying to get on with his own work. Every time he tried to really focus on what he was doing – such as measuring out ingredients accurately – the raven-haired boy would get into some kind of mischief and would distract his attention. The first time Merlin had knocked a candle off the desk and nearly set Gaius' study on fire and the second time he'd been playing some sort of imaginary game that involved swords and lions and jumping on tables. There was only ever one way that could end. Inevitably, Gaius had ended up mopping up a bit of blood both from the boy's alabaster forehead and the corner of his work bench. It hadn't been pretty….or quiet. Merlin's screeches had alerted a couple of handmaidens who'd been walking by and they had darted in to see what all the commotion was about.

Both of them fawned over the odd-looking little fellow, plucking at his ears and deciding that they made him 'adorable'. Those were their words and not Gaius'. Once they had seen that he was all right they had left him in Gaius' incapable hands again.

Currently, Merlin was bashing a couple of his pots together, using them as some kind of drum. Gaius could feel a headache looming.

"_Enough_!" Gaius finally broke. "I can't take it anymore! Will you be quiet?"

Gaius' temper wasn't usually quick to flare so he was as surprised by his outburst as the small boy was. A pair of blue eyes stared fearfully up at him, coupled with a quivering lip and the old physician couldn't help but feel awfully guilty. He knew the child wasn't trying to irritate him; he was just bored. Suddenly, Gaius was stuck by an idea.

"I'll be right back," he said, heading for the door. "Don't go anywhere." As he spoke the words he doubted whether they would be heeded to but he could always hope.

Ten minutes later Gaius returned, a small green bag clutched in his hands. As the door creaked open and he stepped over the threshold, he was stunned to see that Merlin was exactly where he left him, sitting on the floor, crossed-legged, tracing patterns on the floor with his fingers. Odd little marks seemed to be left in the wake of his fingers, like trails of soot or scorch marks, but Gaius ignored them.

"I have something for you, Merlin," he declared, a smile gracing his lips as he saw the boy's face light up.

"Ooh! What is it?" The child leapt eagerly to his feet.

"Take a look."

Gaius had never realised he could get such pleasure out of seeing a child so excited but Merlin's anticipation was so delightful and innocent that the doctor couldn't help but feel his annoyance at the boy thaw. Merlin hopped up and down animatedly, his little feet springing lightly off the flagstones. When Gaius handed him to bag he froze for a moment and then delved inside.

He drew out a couple of objects from inside the bag and stared at them in awe. Toys. Little figurines. Carved delicately from wood and each in the shape of a different animal. A few of them had been given a lick of paint but the majority were a light brown woody colour. Still, the detail and care that had obviously gone into them was obvious for anyone to see. Merlin fingered each of them very gently. His happiness was plain to see on his face.

"Do you know what they all are?" Gaius asked, adopting a teaching voice.

Merlin nodded and proceeded to list them. "A dog, a rabbit, a bear, a bird, a horse, a wolf and a stag."

"Well done," Gaius said, "Now, why don't you play with them – _quietly _– whilst I get on with some work?"

"All right," Merlin agreed. He was eager to play with his new toys.

For a few moments of guilty pleasure Gaius watched the boy at play. He imagined his carefree life and his innocent thoughts and envied his youth. This child had yet to experience the hardships of life. He could still lose himself in an imaginary world without worrying about the real world catching him unawares. It was really a lovely age to be.

Finally, he managed to tear himself away and focus on his work.

Merlin was quietly playing with his toys outside Gaius' chambers. He was aware that he probably shouldn't have strayed so far but when going on an adventure you couldn't let the doors and adult's rules constrain you. Currently, Rabbit and Bird were planning on exploring a crevice in the wall. Bird was having trouble fitting because his wings were too wide. The rest of the animals were setting up camp.

Suddenly, he heard raised voices down the corridor and then a girl of about his age stormed around the corner. A man's voice trailed after her. "Morgana! You cannot go for a walk. We don't have time."

"I never said it would be a long walk," the girl replied, sharply, and then marched off down the corridor 'accidently' kicking over Merlin's carefully erected farm of wooden animals.

"Hey!" he yelped.

"Sorry," she replied as she breezed past, "I slipped." There was a distinct lack of remorse in her tone.

The small boy protectively gathered up the figurines, shielding them from any further distress at the hands – or feet – of Morgana, and placed the majority back in the green cloth bag that they'd come in. He only kept his favourite ones out: the stag and the bear, clutching them tightly in clammy hands.

A tall man followed the girl and the two of them vanished down the other end of the corridor. Merlin guessed that was her father.

Deciding to retreat into Gaius' chambers, Merlin snuck through the door and scuttled along the ground so he wouldn't be spotted. Settling down at the foot of Gaius' workbench, Merlin instantly set his animals on a journey of discovery up his guardian's trouser leg where they would scour the hairy land for treasure and other friends. As Gaius was half asleep in his chair, he didn't notice Merlin's playing until the pointed head of the stag caught the ticklish skin on the back of his knee and he let out a grunt of surprise.

"What the-?"

Merlin grinned cheekily up at him.

* * *

"What do you want from me?"

"Nothing. I will not betray my clan."

"Who are your _clan_?" Uther spat.

"I can't tell you."

"Well why have you taken my son? Why are you here?"

The changeling considered him. "To change things."

"Change things?"

"To make Camelot a better place."

Uther managed to remain calm and considering. "You were swapped so you could become king and rule Camelot for your people?"

"That is…correct," the changeling conceded, reluctantly.

"Well, your cover has been blown. Give me back my son and you can be on your way. Your life for his life."

"It doesn't work like that."

"How does it work?" Uther threw his hands up in the air.

"They wanted me on the throne but they wanted your son even more than the throne of Camelot."

"What? _Why_?" Uther asked, genuinely confused. "He's just a child. If they don't want him because he's my heir then why else could they possible want him?"

"_Artos_ is a very special child. A child borne of sacrifice and magic. He is pure and noble and good…"

Uther looked incredulous. "He is...was a baby! How could you possibly know _anything _about him when you kidnapped him?"

"His destiny is written in the stars and we want to be part of that destiny."

"_What _destiny?" Uther cried. "I don't _care _about any destiny. I just want my son back."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note - Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! The support is always welcome! :D **

**Oh, and I lied, this story is ending up being more than 8 chapters! :O**

Uther looked wretched. His face was ashen, his eyes bloodshot and he couldn't stop shaking – whether it was with fear or anger Balinor didn't know. The young king scraped quivering hands through his hair in anguish and Balinor could tell that he would certainly do _anything _in order to retrieve his lost son. It was just a matter of finding the right bait for the changeling. After a fruitless and exhausting interrogation, the man had left the Great Hall and had made his way to an antechamber. Then he'd slumped inelegantly on a chair and held his head in his hands, the points of his elbows resting on the smooth surface of the table. For a few moments Balinor stared at the 'v' of the king's muscular arms and wondered how on earth he had found himself in this situation, as advisor and confidante to the King of Camelot. A couple of days ago he had been a peasant and now he was in a castle, helping Uther Pendragon to find the son he hadn't even realised he'd lost.

"Balinor," Uther said, his voice rough, "What can I do?" He sounded as if he was dragging his vocal chords across broken glass; each syllable was a painful struggle.

Balinor did not reply. He did not know what to say. And so the king continued.

"I've offered him everything I have: money, titles, lands…his _own life_. And yet nothing will sway him! Surely torture is the only way?"

"My lord…may I point out that if you were to torture this creature – who currently holds the form of your son – and then you received an answer and found Arthur…" Balinor paused, seeing he had Uther's complete attention. "How would you be able to look at your own son knowing you had tortured him?"

Uther frowned. "But it wouldn't be him!"

"That boy looks like your son. If you hurt him would you be able to forgive yourself? Would you able to look at your real son without remembering the screams that you tore from that mouth? Would you be able to forget the blood painted, by you, on your child's skin?" Balinor looked his monarch right in the eye. "Because, sire, I would not be able to do that if it was my son."

The silence that followed was almost tangible. A heavy, emotional silence which enveloped the king, blanketing him, as he contemplated the words of a man who was almost a stranger to him.

"What _should_ I do then?" Uther finally asked. He looked completely broken.

"Offer him something not for himself but for his clan. That would be more difficult to turn down, especially if it would benefit his family."

Steel grey eyes caught his own, intrigued. "Such as?"

"Offer to rescind the ban on magic."

"I shall not!" Uther shouted. Energy seemed to fly back into his body, launching him to his feet and sending him forward several angry paces. Balinor took a measured step back. Spittle was flying from the king's lips now. "I cannot allow these magical fiends to coerce me in such a way!"

Balinor said nothing. He did not mention that his own son had magic and would also stand to benefit from this deal. He did not mention that Uther was a hypocrite for using magic to find his son and then wanting to kill anyone who practiced it the next. He did not mention that if Uther was not willing to do anything for his child then he did not deserve him. Balinor merely kept his mouth shut.

Uther was like a riled boar foaming at the mouth, looking to destroy anything that got in his way. He moved left and right, his stamping footfalls echoing around the hall, and roared with anger. Words and curses and insults cascaded from his contorted lips as he threw a heavy chair across the room and thumped his fist on the stone wall. Balinor spotted the blood collecting on his knuckles but refrained from getting in the way. He wouldn't like to see the damage the trained knight could do to him.

"I have a better plan," Uther suddenly declared, his eyes alight.

Balinor frowned and felt his heart judder. He didn't like the king's tone and the way he was eyeing him like a deer ready to be speared.

"Yes?" the peasant man said, uncertainly.

"Your son!"

Immediately defensive, Balinor retorted: "What about him?"

"He has magic!"

"Yes but…" Balinor's heart thudded sickeningly in his chest.

"I can use him."

"How?"

"To find this magic clan."

"How?" Balinor repeated, warily.

"Surely he can use his magic to find this clan? Or maybe he can communicate properly with this creature in order to get information?"

The king's naivety was astounding and Balinor merely stood with his mouth agape, wondering whether Uther would realise how ridiculous he sounded. After a few seconds though, he realised that the other man was deadly serious. Swiftly, the peasant man tried to gather his wits in order to explain to Uther how his plan had several monumental flaws without casting aspersions on his intelligence or status.

"My lord," he began, the cogs whirring in his brain, "Merlin, although a magic-user, does not have the power to just _find _a clan. They would be well hidden, perhaps even protected by enchantments. My son is not powerful enough to find such beings. And as for communicating with the creature in the other room….I don't believe that is at all wise. Firstly, because he threw Merlin across the room last time they met."

Balinor paled, recalling the horrific memory. He was just relieved that Merlin had bounced back so quickly. All the boy had now to show for his injuries was a tender shoulder, a gash on his head and a few bruises on his back. Balinor had checked very thoroughly.

"And secondly because there isn't a language all magic beings communicate with. They are different. Merlin is not one of them, whatever they are, and therefore the creature is unlikely to trust him."

"But he might!" Uther interrupted, abruptly. "Kinship is a strong persuader."

"But-"

"I have it!" The king clicked his fingers. "Your son will form a friendship…"

"I don't think-"

Uther ploughed on. "With the imposter. It will be based on their mutual magic."

"Their what?"

"And if Merlin were to _release _the creature, act as an accomplice…"

"He's four!" Balinor felt the need to point out.

"Then it would trust him. He could then go with the creature to its lair…"

"_No_!"

"And we could follow and then get Arthur!" Uther clapped his hands proudly, his grey eyes sparkling.

"No," Balinor repeated.

"I'm sorry?"

Uther's joyful expression melted away and it was replaced with one of annoyance. He walked swiftly up to the other man, invading his personal space quite severely. Balinor found himself leaning back, feeling the definite curve as his vertebrae clicked into place. The moisture of Uther's hot breath peppered his skin.

"I'm sorry; would you care to repeat yourself?" Uther said, dangerously.

Gulping awkwardly, Balinor mustered his courage. He had to do this for his son. "I won't allow you to put Merlin in such a dangerous position. He's just a child. He cannot be expected to act as an accomplice to that _creature _and he cannot accompany it alone to its clan! If he blew his cover it would kill him for certain!"

"You were the one defending its innocence not long ago. Why the change of heart?"

Balinor gritted his teeth.

"Could it have something to do with the fact that your son is more important to you than mine?"

"Of course he is!" Balinor burst out. However, he immediately regretted it when he saw the king's face darken. Shadowy anger blackened his features.

"He is not! He never shall be. My son is the prince of Camelot. The _future _king and no one's life equal to his."

"I have to disagree," Balinor murmured, keeping his own fury at the king's disregard for Merlin's life at bay.

"You can disagree all you like," Uther shouted, "It does not change the fact that your son will help me to find mine. Its not as if I'm sending him to be _executed_, is it?" His threatening tone was not missed.

"You promised," Balinor growled. His spine prickled at this early show of treachery.

"And that promise shall be kept if Merlin does what I ask."

And thus Balinor had to concede.

* * *

Crouching on a rock, his knees tucked into his small chest and his fingertips resting delicately on the rough surface, he watched the sun rise slowly from behind the lake. Its shimmering light pooled across the mirror-like surface, a few tendrils splashing onto the shore and catching his upturned face with their warmth. His hawk-gaze picked out a tiny pond-skater skimming across the water, leaving miniscule whirlpools in its wake. The insect glistened prettily in sunshine, throwing off multi-coloured cataracts of water as it glided.

A little way off, his sharp eyes located a heron, statuesque and silent, standing at the edge of the water. They waited patiently together, just watching the surface of the lake. Each muscle was frozen in place; taut. Not even his smooth face twitched. A dragonfly landed tentatively on the rock beside his hand, waltzing elegantly across the grey surface and not even noticing as its spindly legs passed from stone to skin. Still he did not move.

Something shimmered beneath the waterline, smooth and sleek. Several more silver dashes skidded below the surface and his eyes honed in on the closest one.

_Splash_.

His hand was quick as an arrow, darting into the ice-cold water and retracting, squirming fish held tightly in small fingers. He could feel the flex of its spine and the fruitless beating of its fins as it twisted and turned. Its scales were slippery and smooth but his grip was experienced and he didn't let go. Swiftly, he put the suffering creature out of its misery, bashing its head on the rock. The fish went limp.

"Artos!"

The voice smashed through the silence like a fist through a pane of glass, shattering the peace and tranquillity and leaving them broken on the floor. He shuddered and turned.

"Artos!"

A group of children charged towards him, lithely running over pebbles and leaping over rocks. Their bare green feet were light and agile, gripping onto the smallest of crevices and the shallowest of grooves. Soon they would not even need to use their feet, he thought bitterly and tried to push the thought away.

"Artos! What are you doing?"

A tall boy with beetle black eyes and long curly hair reached him first. _Finnian. _

"He's catching fish with his hands again!" Another boy joined him and guffawed.

Nastily, the child reached over and knocked the fish from Artos' hand. Artos had tried to move out of the way but they were too quick for him – they _always _were, no matter how hard he tried to keep up – and he had to watch as the fish hit the ground with a wet slap. He said nothing.

"When you going to learn to do it proper, eh Artos?" Finnian sneered.

With a rough elbow planted squarely in Artos' chest, Finnian pushed him out of the way and stood over the water. He did not wait patiently by the water; he did not see the pond-skater or the heron or the shoal of fish playing beneath the surface. He merely held his hand out and summoned a fish from within the lake. Not only did one fish fly directly into his hand but five quickly followed suit. Artos could only look on mutely, jealousy gnawing at the pit of his stomach.

"Got nothing to say, Arty?" Goov sniggered, pushing him hard onto the ground.

The boy didn't even let out a sound as his hands and knees hit the rocks. He felt his skin tear. Deep inside he felt his anger bubbling but he held it at bay.

One of Finnian's cronies picked up the dead fish and smacked him round the head with it. "Not so _special _now, are you _Artos_?" They all jeered and shouted their appreciation of the boy's words.

Artos supposed he couldn't blame them. On the one hand he was an outsider: he was pale-skinned, pale-haired and his eyes were the colour of the sky. But on the other hand, he seemed to be revered, _loved_, because of these differences. He didn't quite understand why but the elders viewed him as their favourite. He was, as Finnian and his friends' put it the 'special' one. And therefore there would undoubtedly be jealousy and dislike which resulted in bullying – away from the adults of course. Artos took the beatings and the insults without a word. He never told the elders. He wasn't sure why but he saw them as a kind of balance to all the pampering and care that was poured on him by the adults.

In fact, the bullying was sort of a reprieve. Mainly because neither he nor his peers could understand the preferential treatment that was bestowed upon him. He did not like being rewarded for doing nothing, especially as he was so obviously less able than all the other clan children. They could summon objects and run fast without even trying and would soon be able to fly – when their wings developed – and he could do none of these things. Of course he'd tried, tried _so _hard, to be every bit as good as them but it was impossible. And that left Artos feeling like a failure.

Thus he'd developed alternatives to the skills he could not master. He could not run the fastest but he was somewhere near the middle of the pack after months of hard work and perseverance. He's raced against the deer that lived in the forest and found that he could just about equal the little ones. He could not summon objects but he could hunt and fish with speed and accuracy enough not to lag too far behind. And although he could never hope to fly – his parents had told him that he could not – he was adept at climbing. He could scale an almost sheer wall with relative ease, even carrying a bucket of water on his back that was twice as heavy as him.

And also, as a result of near constant bullying and a determination to push himself to the limits, he'd developed a very high pain threshold. Which was fortunate considering what was about to come next.

Finnian caught his wrist in spindly fingers and twisted maliciously. Artos could feel the skin begin to burn and his bones shifted painfully.

"Does that hurt Special One? You going to do something about it Special One?"

"He's too scared, Finnian," Goov cackled. "Look at his face. It's all screwed up! Make him scream! Go on scream, you _coward_!"

The anger that he'd harnessed so well within him suddenly snapped its bindings and roared forth with surprising voracity. With a speed that none of them would have anticipated of the small boy, Artos launched himself forward in a somersault, dragging Finnian with him. The two of them slammed into the rocky ground, ending up in a tangled pile of bruised limbs. Artos was first to extricate himself – the vice on his wrist having loosened – and he sprung agilely to his feet. He was panting heavily. Finnian still lay moaning on the ground.

"What did you do?" Goov shrieked, furiously.

The stocky green-skinned boy threw himself at Artos who only just managed to dodge out of the way. Goov was moving so fast but somehow the blond-haired boy managed to dodge his most damaging blows and land a few of his own. However, the more punches he dished out the angrier his opponent got until he was practically spitting like a wildcat.

Rolling out of the way of a particularly heavy sideswipe, Artos felt his hand close around a long piece of driftwood. Leaping to his feet, the boy brandished the weapon in front of him. He wasn't sure what he was doing but this seemed like a good idea – it would give him more reach and keep him out of harm's way when Goov struck out at him. A thick arm came towards his head but he had time to duck and then pop up again in time to give Goov a hefty thwack on the chest. The other boy gasped and doubled over, his face paling.

Looking around him, he saw that the rest of the group of children had frozen on the spot and were staring at him with a mixture of anger and fear. Eventually, though, seeing the lethal weapon in his hand, the fear won out and they all fled. Goov and Finnian were quick to follow.

Artos was left on his own, standing in the middle of the beach, the plank of wood still clutched tightly in his hand. He had won. This time.


End file.
